His Written Thoughts
by Nightsmoke
Summary: With nothing else to alleviate his boredom while recovering from a broken leg in Italy, Gokudera finds solace in writing about his friends, family, and others who've made his life what it is now. Part of a multi-chapter series.
1. Introduction

_July 24, 20—_

_So the way this works is that I talk, you listen. This little book will probably never see the light of day (as so long as my heart keeps beating), so I can write whatever I damn well please in it without the concern of impressing anyone nagging me. It's a relief, you know? Letting my guard down, not having to work so hard for approval. No one's around._

_This is _not_ a journal; I'd like to establish that from the beginning. Journals are for teenage girls in pink slippers who write about their romantic interests late at night. Or crazy people. These pages, initially intended by my doctor (not that bastard Shamal, thank god) to be a daily health log, ended up turning into more of a personal accord to help pass the time. I don't know where I'd be without it now; I have never been so bored in my twenty-something years of living as I am now. Well, except for that fifteen hours flying back to Italy, maybe. They didn't even have any goddamn movies. I've really got to be more careful from now on, even though I've told myself this a thousand times. But do I listen?  
_

_When they told me 10-12 weeks, I almost set the hospital on fire then and there. People break their legs all the time, they informed me after sensing my mild distress. True, but to spend three months away from the Tenth, from them all...I wonder if they'll be alright without me.  
_

_I got over my frustration, as you can see, and the bones in my leg are mending rather nicely (though the cast itches like a bitch most of the time). It shouldn't be long before I'm on my way back to Japan, but in my downtime...I'll admit I'm enjoying the quiet here._

_Ah, but I am digressing. I think it's the nicotine withdrawal (they also forbade me from cigarettes during my recoup, don't ask me why). Probably why I'm writing in Italian too. Now, back to what possessed me to get all this shit down anyway. It's strangely relaxing, writing about them when they're not there__—__oh wait, it's me who isn't there. Ha, ha!_

_Recalling my memories of our family and others over the past ten years makes me smile. There's no rhyme or reason to what you'll read since whatever is written down is based solely on the weather, how many cigarettes I've smuggled, and my whim, but I wouldn't exactly call them memoirs because I won't be including myself in them. Hence the third-person writing. I'll only comprise a select few stories__—__not the major ones, but some of my favorites. Minutiae, as it is a large part of my personality, will be present in these accords, since the big stuff's already been recorded.  
_

_Oh, that's right. I haven't introduced myself yet, have I? I am the Right-hand man to the Tenth Boss of the Vongola and part of the Italian Mafia: Gokudera Hayato. Pleased to make your acquaintance (unless you're that baseball freak, Yamamoto)._

_I hope you'll enjoy the read. We were pretty crazy back then__—__and who's not to say that we aren't now?_


	2. The List

All characters © Amano Akira

* * *

_Excerpt from Seven Times Tsuna Spoke his Mind by Gokudera Hayato**  
**_

**_3. The List_**

_The author's note: this happened about two years after the tenth gen. was formed. It was one of Hibari's less thoughtful moments when he made the list, not even considering the notion that his plan could backfire. Ha, that tonfa bastard!_

Even at sixteen he was doing his best not to splutter, which seemed to be the Sawada Tsunayoshi Default Reaction to anything new, unknown, or potentially scary. It was a difficult feat at the moment to not even fidget, but he knew that doing otherwise in the presence of Hibari Kyouya would earn him yet another trip to Shamal.

It had been humiliating enough to have been pulled out of class by Hibari himself. Even the teachers, as respectable as they were, seemed to shrivel under that sub-zero glare of his; when Hibari wanted something he always got his way, no questions asked.

Now sitting in the intimidatingly drab lounge of the Disciplinary Committee, Tsuna reached over and took the memo that Hibari was holding out. He frowned questioningly. "You made a list?"

"And I trust that you will take it in your best interest to forget everything on it, Sawada Tsunayoshi," Hibari replied coldly. His voice, more cutting than a November wind, suggested that the alternative wouldn't be pretty.

"But Hibari-san, I really don't remember anything from it!" Tsuna protested, the list flapping around as he gesticulated. "It was a special bullet!" But then again, he considered, he was almost completely lucid under Reborn's Dying Will bullet or the Tomaso's Desperation Bullet, certainly miffed afterward but with complete recollect of his actions.

Hibari seemed to be taking no chances. "I don't care," he said. "Just make sure that everything on that list is conveniently erased from your memory."

Tsuna glanced down at the list. His eyebrows rose. "I really said that you have an 'inferiority complex with Mukuro because he's the only one to ever prove you wrong?' "

"Among other things," Hibari grit out. It was the closest Tsuna had ever seen him to humility, and after realizing so he quickly gathered his thoughts before he was thrown out for dawdling.

"Um, if you don't mind me asking, Hibari-san, why do you care so much about what happened? Even going as far as to make this?" Tsuna held up the list. He winced behind it, hoping that he hadn't been out of line with that last comment, and praying to the powers that be that he wouldn't be eating metal in the next few seconds.

Fortunately for him, Hibari was not in a particularly violent mood that day and merely gazed at Tsuna stonily. "I do mind you asking."

"It was a Truth Bullet!" Tsuna said exasperatedly. "Of _course_ I was going to speak my mind!"

"So you really did mean those things." Hibari's eyes narrowed. Tsuna quickly backtracked, sensing danger.

"Well, um, about that...I mean..." He looked up suddenly, and at that moment his brown eyes seemed bright enough to melt the pellucid ice-blue of Hibari's as Tsuna met his gaze. "They were true, weren't they?"

Silence hung in the air for a minute. After exhaling slowly through his nose Hibari noted, "I thought you didn't remember."

"I don't," Tsuna replied. "However," he glanced toward the list, "you just told me in there."

There was a slow, metallic _schick_ as Hibari's tonfa slid out from underneath his coat. Apparently he didn't care for anyone other than him having the upper hand. "You're wasting my time, Sawada Tsunayoshi," he said.

"Hee! Why can't we ever talk like two civilized people, Hibari-san?" Tsuna half-whined, backing his chair up. "Look, I won't repeat anything on this list, and you don't have to hurt me again. Deal?"

With a muffled 'hn' Hibari re-sheathed his tonfa. "Fine."

Tsuna knew he should have left it at that, but he couldn't help but glance at Hibari's list again. "Wow, um, I said a lot," he muttered, leaning over to read more carefully.

When he had finished he looked up at Hibari again. The latter bristled, not liking Sawada's look one bit. "What is it, Sawada Tsunayoshi." It was almost a question.

Tsuna's throat worked and his mouth opened a few times before he could answer. His eyes kept re-reading one part where he had apparently told Hibari that the latter was 'the least mature out of any of them, stubborn, callous, and violent when he didn't get his way, and sulked like a child when something displeased him because he didn't know how to deal with actual feelings.' Ouch. And that wasn't even the worst thing on the list.

"I was...really ranting, wasn't I?" he asked quietly. Hibari reached for his waistband again. He knew that look, because it was one he'd seen on Sawada's face more often than not. It was pity.

"You wouldn't have made a list of this if it wasn't something that was bothering you," Tsuna said.

"Don't try to understand me."

Tsuna looked sad. "Why, because you're a carnivore and I'm just an herbivore who eats grass? Hibari-san...I've known you since I started junior high. You wouldn't have written what I said down if I hadn't hit the mark. One of the things I actually agree on with Reborn these days is that I'm good at reading people."

He handed the list back to Hibari and gave a winsome, melting smile that even made someone as callous as the Head of the Disciplinary Committee momentarily falter. "Don't you think you can trust me by now, Hibari-san?" he asked. "You shouldn't be so ashamed of your weaknesses. In fact, I think it would be good to acknowledge them."

"I will decide whether or not they should be acknowledged, not you," Hibari cut in, establishing that he had control of the situation, like always. Tsuna shook his head. Same old Hibari.

He turned to leave, but before he did he took a Dying Will pill out of the pocket of his Namimori uniform, quickly swallowed it, and used a gentler version of his flames to burn the list until it was no longer legible. Hibari almost stopped him. Almost.

"Those things aren't for _me_ to remember, Hibari-san," Tsuna remarked from the Committee's door. "I've already forgotten them." Hibari tilted his head to the side, allowing his dark hair to shade his cheekbones. He didn't quite understand yet, Tsuna saw, so he said one more thing before leaving.

"It shouldn't have taken a mafia Truth Bullet for this, I don't think. Part of growing up is acknowledging those flaws yourself, and not having someone else do it for you."

And it was only in the night's latest hours that Hibari would reflect on this, not wanting to admit to himself that maybe Sawada Tsunayoshi had been right.

_end._


	3. Weighing Options

All characters © Amano Akira

* * *

_Excerpt from Seven Times Tsuna Spoke his Mind by Gokudera Hayato**  
**_

**_6. Weighing Options  
_**

_The author's note: this riles me every time I think about it. Granted, over the years Chrome and I have become closer, but I used to keep her at a distance back in the old days (partially because I felt uncomfortable with her ties to Mukuro). But even then, I protested that the Tenth let me come with him. He insisted it was something he wanted to do alone, though. Believe me, I would have talked some sense into those buffoons.  
_

He supposed it was partially Mukuro's doing that the Namimori Health Inspectors hadn't shut down Kokuyo Land for good. For all he knew this place was invisible to the outside world.

That didn't change Tsuna's dislike for the building. As always, it smelled of old dust, rubber, and the faint coppery odor of long dried blood. The dankness and musty stench of rotting upholstery made Tsuna think of abandoned circuses and haunted Victorian homes. There were no lights, and he told himself that those were just insects he heard scratching away across the floorboards, even if they sounded more like rats and...other things.

Luckily Tsuna's thoughts were interrupted before they could stray into more disturbing waters with an "Eh? What's the Vongola brat doing here?"

Kokuyo's nosiest inhabitant had caught a whiff of the homemade bento Tsuna was carrying, and thus decided it was appropriate to make his entrance. Tsuna wasn't startled; after a while of coming to this place the fear had begun to dwindle. It was merely a decrepit edifice, the house on reverie corner: home to the lost dreams and childhood pasts of those who inhabited it. His dull anger at the moment also acted as a successful curb to any fear he might have still had. "Hello, Ken."

"What do you want?" Ken asked, eyeing the bento and trying his best not to drool at the thought of warm, white rice and sweet meat. Tsuna saw where his gaze was fixed, and hid the bento out of sight.

"This isn't for you," he said, "It's for Chrome." Ken hid his disappointment poorly.

"I don't know where she is right now, but I'll take it for her—"

"Chrome was at my house the other day," Tsuna interrupted. His tone was weary, and he fixed Ken with a mournful stare that reminded Ken of Chrome herself. "My mom took one look at her and asked her to step on our scale." He looked pointedly at Ken. "Do you know how much she weighed?"

"Cheh. How the hell should I know?"

"40 kilos," Tsuna answered, and was grateful to see Ken wince. Even someone like him realized that 40 kilograms was dangerously low for a tall, teenage girl. Now getting a closer look at Ken, Tsuna observed that he was a little on the thin side too. He wondered how they paid for food among other necessities, or if Mukuro even bothered to pay their meals for them. Tsuna didn't yet have the gumption to take it up with Mukuro, but he supposed it was an issue he would have to address once he officially became the Vongola _Decimo._

"I weighed 40 kilos when I was in elementary school," Tsuna remarked. "Chrome is fifteen. Have you noticed that you can see her ribs right through her uniform, Ken?"

Ken averted his eyes, looking uncomfortable and more than a little guilty. "We thought she liked the choco-bits," he mumbled.

Sometimes Tsuna thought he was the only one around with some common sense. "You can't live on choco-bits!" he protested, throwing up his hands, as if the point was painfully obvious (which it was). the bag with the bento in it swished in the air. "Maybe you guys can, but if Chrome doesn't get a decent meal soon she'll have to be hospitalized!"

Ken bristled. You could almost imagine his hackles raising, tasting flavorful threat in the air. "You're saying you'll take her away?"

"Ken." Chikusa had appeared without a sound, as was per usual with him, and he lay a pale hand on Ken's shoulder. Chikusa was the final straw; it was too much for Tsuna.

"Look at you guys," he moaned. "All of you, you're underweight and malnourished. You live in a place with no beds, no shower, no decent _lighting,_ even. Doesn't Mukuro-san feed you? Can't you take care of yourselves?"

Chikusa looked at Ken, who brusquely retorted, "We've never had a problem before. And why should you care, Vongola brat?"

Tsuna sighed in defeat, shoulders slumping. "How can I not?" he asked, limply. "Come over to my house for dinner tonight, and let me show you what a real meal should be."

There was a silence in the air, broken only by the sporadic _plip, plip_ of a leaky pipe somewhere. The two looked at each other, deliberated wordlessly, and to Tsuna's surprise, agreed.

_end._


	4. Running Home

All characters © Amano Akira

* * *

_Excerpt from Baseball Freak's Epic Failures by Gokudera Hayato**  
**_

**_2. Running Home  
_**

_The author's note: Yamamoto and I have had a love-hate relationship going for a while now since our personalities are almost exact opposites. But he grows on you, you know? On one hand he can annoy the hell out of you, but on the other he can be pretty useful. Like a fetch-dog. This particular incident happened during our junior year at Namimori and was perhaps one of his funniest screw-ups that I can recall (in hindsight, of course). It's only now that I can laugh about it, since with years to abrade the irritation of the moment, it really was quite funny.  
_

Although Ryohei wouldn't be able to speak over a hoarse whisper the next day, he would fully claim to have drowned out half the cheer-leading squad in volume. Kyoko, afraid that he would rupture something one day, had tried to persuade her older brother not to go to any more baseball outings.

It was Namimori versus Akihara for the championship, and the majority of both schools were there that day. Even Hibari came, his bird tooting the school anthem somewhere high above the bleachers as the sunlight reflected over the metal fences. The only person not present was Tsuna, since a waning case of the spring flu had left him at home to hack out the last of it. Reborn speculated that things would get interesting this way, since the Vongola's "peacemaker" wasn't there to reign his family in. Here's to say the Arcobaleno wasn't disappointed in the least.

"NAMIMORRRIIII, FIGHT-OOOOOOOOO!"

"MY GOD, SHUT UP ALREADY!"

Ryohei continued to cheer even after the people sitting in front of him had torn up their tickets and hopelessly stuffed them into their ears _(I myself wished I'd had the Tenth's earmuffs then)_. Tsuna would have been disheartened to know that Kyoko and Haru had worn their mascot outfits (not Namahages) and were waving around victory signs zealously. Chrome, not partial to the noise, was content with holding Lambo and the popcorn, which was essentially one and the same thing in the end.

The game itself was somewhat anticlimactic for all of the ruckus and crowd it engendered. Fouls were called, outs were striked, and points were accrued. During the top of the inning, Reborn could see Yamamoto in the outfield, sweating faintly in the sun as he squinted ahead in hopes of a rogue ball.

Nothing interesting happened until the bottom of the tenth inning, when the game was almost over. The game, unlike American baseball (which only had nine innings, usually) had been long, and most of the spectators were beginning to tire. Reborn, who had a somewhat sadistic streak to his hedonism, sat thinking of ways to make the audience more amusing. After some debating and a few lissome hops, he ensconced on Ryohei's shoulder and spoke to him, eyes abstrusely hidden in the shade of his fedora.

"You know, Ryohei," he began, "in some Western countries, the only way to ensure victory for your team is if everyone in the bleachers throws popcorn in the air." Ryohei's grey eyes widened with all enthusiasm and not a modicum of askance.

"Seriously?"

"Ah," Reborn nodded. "But only if everyone does it. I'd say you have about a half-hour left."

With the details graciously spared, Ryohei's endeavors ended up a complete disaster. However, their intended purpose was almost fulfilled; both teams weren't able to hit any points (they were distracted by some disturbance in the bleachers). The score was still pretty close. Ryohei, his job done, was being led away by the Disciplinary Committee and couldn't cheer anymore.

Before long, the bottom of the twelfth and final inning approached. Reborn would later have some acclaim to the school's victory, but in truth it was a combined effort. What happened was simply: Reborn decided to take things into his own hands. Even if they were tiny.

Hopping around the bleachers and reaching the fence unnoticed was almost effortless for someone of his caliber (and size), as was turning Leon into a fully charged megaphone. As was whipping out a cell phone and making a long-distance call to Naples. He waited until Yamamoto rose to the plate before making his move, holding up the cell phone to his Leon-speaker.

Yamamoto took a deep breath.

He let it out.

He raised the bat.

_"VVOIIIIIIII, VONGOLA BRAT! IF YOU DON'T HIT THIS HOME RUN, I WILL PERSONALLY COME OVER THERE AND KICK YOUR ASS UNTIL YOU EAT STANDING UP AND HAVE TO USE SHIGURE KINTOKI TO WIPE YOURSELF!"_

It was simply another cheer to the rest of the crowd, even if it's enthusiasm bordered on mild psychosis. Hence, no one gave it much notice. Four individuals in the bleachers, plus two by security, however, all froze.

"That isn't..."

"...it is."

"What's _that_ bastard doing here? Where is he?"

And from somewhere over by the Disciplinary stand, a faint call of "Hit it to the extreeemeee..." could be heard. That was certainly enough for Yamamoto Takeshi.

As the ball came, Yamamoto honed all the power he could muster into his shoulders and back. Most high school juniors hadn't undergone years of mafia training and would have found this task difficult, but for Yamamoto the focus came naturally. He would do this. Everyone was counting on him. And Squalo was watching, somehow. Maybe.

Unfortunately Yamamoto had decided to put all of his power into hitting and less towards aiming. An ear-shattering crack left anyone in close proximity with throbbing eardrums and the ball airborne. Now diminishing into a little white dot, the ball rose up with an uncanny speed, higher, higher...

And promptly crashed through the window of Namimori's third floor. The Principal's office.

Tsuna was later appalled to hear that Reborn had done such a thing, yet he wasn't all that surprised. It was certainly up his alley. The gang had come to visit him_—_or rather, barricade themselves in his home from a rampaging Hibari—after the game, all laughing with popcorn crumbles in their hair and faces shining. When it was safe to go outside again, Yamamoto's father treated them all to free sushi to celebrate Namimori's victory. Somewhere in Italy, Superbi Squalo sat back in his chair and roared with laughter.

Strangely enough, although everyone knew about Yamamoto's "delinquent killer ball," no charges were pressed on the demolished window, broken lamp, overturned desk, and shattering of various glass objects. The worst of it was a brief lecture from Hibari (a_ lecture,_ can you imagine), since even he didn't have the heart to beat Yamamoto up for it. Yamamoto wasn't suspended, nor did the school sue him for extensive property damage. Either Reborn was one hell of a smooth talker, or Namimori's championship victory acted as lucky compensation. To this day Yamamoto will never know. Nor will I.

_end._


	5. Not Funny

All characters © Amano Akira

* * *

_Excerpt from On the Day Pigs Fly by Gokudera Hayato**  
**_

**_4. Not Funny  
_**

_The author's note: Are you enjoying my little compendium so far? My leg is particularly itchy beneath the cast today, a little irksome thing that won't go away. I detest things that annoy me. Which brings me to my next story. As you are aware, there may be no love lost between Rokudo Mukuro and most of the Vongola. Don't worry; I have no intention of bitching about him for god knows how many pages (even I've grown to tolerate him somewhat, since he's proven himself useful to us occasionally). No, this instance happened sometime during our middle years of Namimori, and it still confuses the hell out of me. You know how that Mist bastard has that god-awful annoying chuckle, that little "ku-fu-fu-ing" shit he's got going on? Well apparently, that wasn't always the case.  
_

Rokudo Mukuro smiled quite often.

That given, you would be surprised to discover he didn't have much of a sense of humor despite his quotidian smirks and leers and snickers. His mirth stemmed mostly from sadism and schadenfreude, which was only amusing in the eyes of the beholder. Those who knew him had to put up with the constant chuckles, that low "ku, fu, fu" that seemed to rumble up from even the most mild of statements. This often earned him sighs of annoyance from anyone in proximity (or caustic glares depending on who was around).

Mukuro's regular acquaintances learned that there wasn't any _real_ humor attached to those laughs. It was just for show, like his illusions that could be seen but not touched. His humor was like biting into a spoiled cake: all frosting and sweetness, but once your teeth set in you found yourself chewing on maggots and squirming things and something truly nasty.

Keep that in mind.

[_I felt the need to interject into my own story here mainly because you'll regard me with the utmost askance if I don't prepare this properly. To do so, I must first tell you about the circumstances leading up to this event, mainly, the Italian lessons. This is the ONLY story where I may regularly refer to myself in the first person within the text (merely for storytelling purposes). I will try to refrain from using "the Tenth" here to describe my boss._]_  
_

It had reached a point in the growth of the Vongola where Reborn thought it apposite that Italian be taught to everyone who didn't already speak it. Tsuna and his gang were almost eighteen, and international relations had slowly become a larger part of their mafia business. Those who were not fortunate enough to have come from or to have lived in Italy at one point found themselves under the instruction of those that had (mainly Tsuna, Yamamoto, Ryohei, Hibari, Ipin, Kyoko, and Haru).

The tutors chose their students predictably. Over the span of that year Colonello taught Ryohei, Lambo taught Ipin, Squalo taught Yamamoto, and Dino taught Hibari. Chrome and Bianchi taught Kyoko and Haru interchangeably. These are all stories on their own, but for another time and place.

However, Tsuna's case was slightly different this time around. He was averse to Reborn's spartan teaching methods and was naturally reluctant to learn Italian from him. I offered to instruct him myself, but Reborn would not allow it, declaring that Tsuna should "strengthen his family's connections by learning from those who he does not see on a regular basis." Or some craptastic shit like that.

There were dozens of people Tsuna could have learned from. Unfortunately, most of them were in Italy or preoccupied, and Sawada Nana hadn't wanted to pay the phone bills for long distance calling.

Predictably of my younger self, I blew a gasket when Reborn suggested that Tsuna go to Kakimoto Chikusa and Joshima Ken for lessons, out of all people. Those two, if not apparent from their names, were Japanese. They weren't even Vongola (yet)!

_But they spent most of their lives in Vendicare,_ Reborn reminded me. _They are as fluent as you are._

So it was settled. I hoped (and expected) that the Kokuyo bastards would turn Tsuna down, but after the incident with Chrome's treatment a few years ago and the promising intervention of Reborn himself, they accepted.

Rokudo Mukuro and his gang hadn't moved out of Kokuyo Land at this point in time, so Tsuna would head over to the old building nearly every day after school, shivering in the dampness of rotting wood with only his school uniform covering him. But that was the least of Tsuna's problems. He had never been the studious type, and Italian was a difficult language for him. There were dipthongs and tripthongs and all sorts of accents in places they wouldn't normally be. Gradually Tsuna learned enough to at least express what he wanted, and even then it was with feeble syntax and his accent was terrible. Ken and Chikusa often made fun of him for it.

[_Now, back to where we were. As a reminder, I will continue to tell things from my point of view since I had direct involvement in this one._]

Sometimes Mukuro would drop in for a minute before heading back out and catch a glimpse of their lessons, but it was rare. It was on one of these sparse occasions that this incident happened. I was also present at the time, since I had come to check up on them. Tsuna had called me to say that he would be staying later than usual today to work on some conjugations, so I thought I would bring him some dinner.

It had been Ken's idea, I know that for a fact. As much of a bastard as that Chikusa was, it wasn't something I could picture him doing; the guy had the emotional palate of a wet dishcloth. As things went, I hadn't arrived until right when it happened, but according to Tsuna, it went something like this:

"Mukuro-san should be coming soon," Ken said, almost drooling with excitement. He leaned back in his chair amidst a pile of Tsuna's notes. "Don't you want to show him your progress, eh, Vongola brat?"

Tsuna immediately paled. Mukuro always made him edgy. Especially when Tsuna was in their territory. "Um, what should I say?"

Ken thought a moment, rubbing the scar on the bridge of his nose. "Say something impressive," he mused. "We could give you a little help there, since you're not that advanced yet."

"There's not much I can think of to tell him, though," Tsuna mumbled. "Any ideas?"

"Well...you could say 'Mukuro-san is the coolest.' "

"Ken, that's stupid."

"Have _you_ got anything better, Kakipi?"

"..."

"I thought so." Ken smiled wolfishly, a few of his canines gleaming over the pink of his bottom lip. "Just tell him you hope he'll become a useful asset to your family."

"Will you teach me how to say that?" Tsuna asked, his eyes shining even in the dim lighting of the Kokuyo derelict.

"It sounds longer in Italian," he noted after Ken told him. "And isn't 'capra' a goat?"

"It has many meanings," Ken waved him off, "but that's the best way say it." Behind him, Chikusa coughed behind one hand. Tsuna didn't think Chikusa to be capable of actual laughter, so he interpreted it as a cough then.

Had I not arrived sooner, I would have stopped this asininity before it was too late. But Tsuna, falling for the oldest trick in the book, memorized the phrase until he got it right and repeated it to Mukuro when the man walked in.

I will not repeat the sentence, said in a painfully awkward accent made even more awkward by the sweetness of Tsuna's tone. It involved the rather colorful usage of _fottere, tridente, _and _tanga_ among other words that involved various farm animals and food condiments. Ken was approaching apoplexy from stifling little wheezing snickers into the crook of his arm and Chikusa wore an odd expression bordering on disgust and amusement. I was stunned.

Apparently so was Mukuro.

The man looked shocked for a good minute before promptly losing it. I have never seen anything so terrifyingly and utterly creepy (except for that one time I found Ryohei at the store buying tampons for his sister), and hope never to hear that sound ever again.

I think the initial shock of it was that we had never heard of Mukuro genuinely laughing at anything before. Save for Ken and Chikusa, who had heard it only a few select times, that is.

Tsuna stared numbly at Mukuro, who was doubled over, cackling like a loon. It was higher pitched than his quiet chortles, and tears streamed out of his mismatched eyes. More than a little confused at the sudden paroxysm of giggles and my evident facepalming, Tsuna demanded to know what was wrong. I told him he really didn't want to know. The poor guy didn't need hyper-intuition to realize that his intended compliment had meant something vulgar.

Someone like Rokudo Mukuro _would_ find what was said funny. I think it was a combination of Tsuna's warbling accent and the obscenity of the statement that set him off...but in the end, Mukuro cracked. The result was quite disturbing. Luckily, it's not been witnessed since and I'm damn content with the 'ku, fu, fu.'

What really disturbs me is that now, in later years, I actually find the situation amusing.

_end._


	6. The Sneeze

All characters © Amano Akira

* * *

_Excerpt from Hibari Kyouya, the Epic Fail Chronicles by Gokudera Hayato**  
**_

**_8. The Sneeze  
_**

_The author's note: Forgive me if these entries have seemed a bit silly in tone. I've plenty of damn near depressing recollections up there as well, but I'd rather write about the ones that make me grin as it helps my recuperation. In general I don't like writing about Hibari, since there's really nothing personally interesting about the guy. However, he has his moments. This one I heard directly from Kusakabe Tetsuya one night when we had__ been drinking after one of the meetings. I don't remember exactly how the topic arose, though I think I started it by querulously complaining if Hibari was actually human following an infuriatingly callous remark of his. Kusakabe had turned to me and had disagreed. He then proceeded to launch into this story, unprecedented, though I seem to recall him being especially inebriated that evening.  
_

This had never been an issue up until now. The Disciplinary Committee found themselves at a loss from this sudden turn of events. Even Kusakabe Tetsuya looked around, the end of his carefully styled hair quivering in apprehension.

Their intimidatingly drab lounge seemed to almost double in size with the thickness of the silence that filled it. Everyone was frozen in place.

_A few moments ago..._

"I don't think we need to put them in _every_ classroom," one of the Committee's members was saying, "but a few would be nice."

"And how much of the budget would the tamper dye impact?"

"Hmm... about ten percent, I hope..."

Hibari Kyouya listened to the meeting silently, standing against the wall as he often did. The only times he spoke were to ask a question or when he was unsatisfied with something. Most tried to make the former a more frequent case than the latter because they valued their bones intact.

"What do you think, Kyouya-san?"

The room fell silent as they awaited his response. Hibari unfolded his arms and opened his mouth, but instead of giving an answer he promptly sneezed behind one hand. He sniffed, eyebrows raised in mild surprise.

The Committee was equally astounded. Hibari Kyouya had sneezed. It was an event unheard of, a rare display of public weakness in the eyes of many, and probably one that few people had the opportunity of witnessing. But now they were at a loss. This was _Hibari Kyouya_ they were talking about. Did they bless him with a timid "odaiji ni," or let the sneeze pass unnoticed?

Time seemed to slow to a crawl. Some of the members glanced fervently at each other in hopes that the more proprietary of them would issue the blessing. Would Kyouya-san be angry if no one acknowledged the sneeze? Would he be angry if they did? And, heaven forbid, what if he happened to sneeze again?

Many turned to the Vice-Prefect, Kusakabe, as if it was his duty to say bless you. Unfortunately Kusakabe didn't yet have the knowledge of his future self, who was aware that Hibari preferred not to have his sneezes (or any other bodily function, for that matter) acknowledged because he thought they made him seem weak. Kusakabe was at as much a loss as everyone else in this time and place.

In the end no one said anything, and the meeting continued as planned.

"The Committee is getting too soft with me," Hibari commented to Kusakabe sometime later in the day. "I don't like it."

His second-in-command glanced over. "Why would you say that, Kyo-san?"

Hibari scowled caustically. "They were giving me funny looks this afternoon when I gave them no such permission to stare at me in that way," he said.

"Well..." Kusakabe chose his words carefully before continuing, "I didn't notice anything, and if they did look at you strangely, it's probably because they are intimidated by you."

Seeming satisfied with that response, Hibari lapsed into silence. Kusakabe only broke it when he saw Hibari pulling out a small bottle of pills and swallowing one dry.

"Aspirin?"

"Claritin," he corrected.

They were going to have to think of something quick, Kusakabe thought, as the spring air swirled around them.


End file.
